Candles
by Gray Doll
Summary: "There are many things you don't know, little bird. And the less you know, the happier you'll be, trust me." He said sharply, looking away from her. "But what if I want to know?" she insisted. Modern!AU, San/San
1. Enter

**Title**: Candles

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: "There are many things you don't know, little bird. And the less you know, the happier you'll be, trust me." He said sharply, looking away from her. "But what if I want to know?" she insisted. Modern!AU, San/San

**Author's Notes**: I've wanted to do an AU Modern setting ASOIAF fic for a really, really, _really _long time now, and finally I did. Maybe it's the fact that I've been desperate for season 3 of GoT, the fact that I've read all the books thrice and that I've been watching too many TV shows lately. Oh, and the fact that I've been reading a great load of SanSan fics. SanSan is a ship I believe nobody can resist -even those who claim it's gross, I just _know _they secretly love it. So... Modern!AU, Sansa/Sandor, M rated... yeah, I guess I'll have a pretty good time writing this, and I do hope you'll enjoy reading it as well! This chapter is a little short... But it's more Prologue-like. Yeah. Beware that this is only my second ASOIAF fanfic, and English is not my native language. That means one thing, and I believe you all get it... Right?

Everything belongs to GRRM. Are we ok with that? Of course we are.

**)(**

This was not a suitable place for ladies.

No, a dark and humid backstreet was certainly not a place Sansa Stark should be wandering in, but here she was, wrapped in a threadbare yet thick fur coat, her eyes downcast and her pace swift and hurried.

Her rapid gait paused only for a split second as she spotted a small group of hooded men with the corner of her eye, but quickly she resumed her advance down the dingy dead end, this time walking a bit faster. She was only a few feet away from the first turn left when she heard the inevitable catcall from an undefined spot behind her.

Sansa started to walk faster, but quickly she realized her mistake and slowed down, adopting a slightly less fidgety manner. She bit down on her lower lip and kept walking, ignoring the calls coming from the drunk men behind her.

"Hey, pretty girl!" one of the voices sounded alarmingly close and she had no choice but to speed up now, wrapping the thick coat tighter around her thin frame. "Hey, where are you going? I don't bite, girl!"

_No, but you sure do other things_, she thought and clenched her teeth, trying to push the image of the -were they three? Or four?- men running after her. She had other, more important things to focus on, and she hoped that if she ignored the men, they would leave her be as well.

_Dontos. Think about Dontos. Just keep walking -but don't run!- and soon you'll be with him and everything will be alright._

"Hey, sweetheart, why don't you slow down?" One of them cried, and a high-pithced laugh followed as a response.

"Maybe she's afraid, Riley," the voice slurred. "Don't you scare the girl, dude, she'll run away!"

Sansa took a sharp intake of breath as she finally reached the first turn left and found herself in another narrow backstreet, dark and dewy as the last one. She heard the men laughing again, probably at something one of them had said, or maybe because of the obviously alarmed state she was in. _Never mind them_, she tried to impose that thought on her mind, _you've almost reached the bar_.

Finally, she saw the large tottering sign with the off neon letters, swaying in the light breeze just above a wooden door with a large glass window obscured by a thick curtain inside. With her hopes now fanned, she ran towards the small pub entrance. Her hand had almost touched the doorknob when she heard the sound of heavy footfalls behind her and an infallibly drunken and uncoherent voice.

**)(**

The music was too loud. _Too _fucking loud, but of course, even if he did speak a few words with the barman or that mockery of a DJ, the mute wouldn't droop. Not as long as all these people crowding the chock full pub seemed to be having a _really _good time.

Cursing under his breath, Sandor turned to the scrawny barman and sloshed his glass on the hastily polished surface.

"Another one, Dog?" the young man asked, and Sandor growled.

"_Yes_, you fool, and make it quick!" This goon patron just set his teeth on edge.

The barman opened his mouth to say something, but a grim glare from his costumer silenced him and he receded in the shadows of his bar, burrying himself between dusty bottles to find the one Sandor had - non-verbally - asked for.

Sandor rolled his eyes and took his pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his bleached shirt, his restless eyes roaming around the scrimp room. The dancefloor -or at least, that was what the owner of this place liked to call the piddling space in the centre of the pub- was once again full with dancing people. Most of them were young, younger than him, and, quite absurdly, they all seemed to be having the time of their lives.

They were all drunk. Hell, he _was _drunk too, but he wasn't making a complete fool of himself by swaying clumsily under the beats of an irritably loud "music", despite a very obvious lack of talent, compressed between ten other idiots with sweaty armpits and hazed minds. He saw a not very pretty blonde woman grinding her ass against the groin of a tall, dark-haired guy who was clearly enjoying her attentions. Only a foot away from them was another couple, a young redhead with big tits dancing with her back turned to a guy Sandor presumed was her boyfriend... Or maybe a one-night stand candidate.

He settled for a pull from his cigarette, eyes narrowing as he watched the mass of people nonchalantly. Perhaps somewhere between them he could find a woman in a cheap-looking fancy dress, with extragavant hair and hideous make-up -if he did, he'd throw a few dollars at her and he'd take her in some corner of a dark alleway, fuck her, and then never hear of her again. That was, pretty much, how things always worked between him and women -_cheap _women. And whores.

Not that Sandor ever bothered to look at all those "high-class" ladies, or even the average ones. They were not for him, and he was not for them. Simple things, really.

"Your drink, Dog."

Sandor growled through clenched teeth as he accepted the glass of scotch and sat back on his stool. Things were, once again, going as planned. He had left the pitiful hole he called home, had come in this dingy pub, and was drinking, hoping to get drunk and eventually find someone to fuck. Thankfully, money was something he could easily find -it would not be the first time he stole from someone, and there was no chance even the filthiest of all whores would spare him a second glance if he did not give her some dollars. Of course, his brother was to blame for this -for his hideous face, and-

"Oh, _shut up_," he hissed under his breath, then quickly downed three large gulps of his drink. He was about to light another cigarette when the heavy door opened and crashed against the wall with a loud thump. Instantly his eyes shot up -he was the only one who had noticed. Everyone else seemed to be engaged... elsewhere. _Drinking, checking out chicks, money, drinking, fucking, drinking_...

A young girl stormed in, her auburn hair winnowing behind her as she ran into the pub. Her face was a mask of terror and she cluthced at the coat around her shoulders as she turned around to close the door behind her, but the man who stormed inside after her was quicker. He pinned her against the wall and she let out a scream as he pressed his body against hers.

Then two more men came inside, one of them laughing hysterically, the other with a look of disbelief crossing his pointed features. "Dude, let the little bitch go and let's get outta here!" he growled, reaching out to pull the first man away from the girl, but his companion pushed him away and he almost fell to the ground.

Now more people seemed to realize what was going on. The mass of dancing habitues let out a loud clamor as they started to trample one another in order to either run away from the scene or try to get closer. Without thinking, Sandor stood up and reached inside his back pocket, pulling out a gun and pointing it straight to the man who had thrown the girl against the wall.

Everyone screamed at the sight of the weapon, and Sandor heard the barman shout "Are you fucking _crazy_, Dog?" but didn't pay them any attention. His glass had slammed onto the floor and broken into dozens of tiny pieces, his cigarette was still in his left hand and the man had pulled himself away from the girl, now nervously glaring at the gun.

"Chill out, man, I -I'm not touching her!"

"Dog, drop the fucking thing on the ground!" the barman growled and a woman was heard crying from the furthest corner of the small pub.

"Let's get out of here!" one of the three men shouted and the other two needed no further prompting. The three of them ran out of the building as swiftly as they could, and were followed by another couple who had obviously had the fright of their lives.

The girl dropped on the floor, face flushed and breast heaving. A tall woman winkled out of the crowd and ran to her, kneeling beside her and resting a hand on her forehead. "You okay, dear?" she asked worriedly, and the girl nodded wearily. "Good God," the woman exclaimed, "you're burning up, honey! Come, can you get up?"

"I... yes," the girl said meekly and took the woman's hand, pulling herself up with as much grace as she could. Her bright eyes were on Sandor's gun.

"Dog, _put that thing away_!" the barman yelled again, and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine, don't be such a princess, Tom," he growled and placed the weapon back in his pocket. Thankfully, no one even bothered to ask him where he'd gotten it, or why he had carried it to a pub.

Tom, the barman, flashed a huge -and lamely forced- smile to the still shocked crowd and spread his arms wide. "Keep dancing, people, nothing happened! Ah, things like these are only commonplace in here, you should know that!" The skinny man turned his head to the corner where the DJ was standing still behind his clearly outdated console. "Ron, hit it!"

It was not long before the music started playing again, and pretty much everyone resumed their previous drunken dancing. It seemed as if the incident with the girl and Sandor's gun pointing at the three men had never taken place -_ah, the bloody magic alcohol can do_, thought Sandor.

He threw his cigarette in a cracked ashtray, then turned to the barman. "I'm going, Tom. It's fucking boring in here."

Tom arched an eyebrow. "You _better _leave, Dog, or I'm calling the police."

Sandor laughed bitterly. "Tom, you know if you ever do a thing like that I'll rip your balls off and make you swallow them. 'Night now."

With that Sandor turned and started for the door, but abruptly stopped when he felt a small hand brush against his arm. He was surprised to see it was the girl with the auburn hair, now covered in a thick blanket, looking up at him through her long lashes. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes betrayed the fear and disgust she so obviously felt while looking at his burnt face.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you want, girl?"

"I... I'm Sansa," the girl said softly, pulling her hand from his arm.

"I don't care," he growled and went to leave, but she stopped him again. He rolled his eyes. "What is it?"

"Thank you, sir," she said. "For what you did. For saving me."

He hissed through his teeth. "I am no sir, girl," he said sharply and turned his back to her, storming out of the pub.


	2. All Just Names

**Author's Notes**: Thank you everyone for reading thus far. So, I've decided to make certain characters a bit older. I don't have any particular problem with Sansa and Sandor being their age in the books and TV adaptation, but I figured out it would be quite absurd if, in the modern world, a grown man had any sort of romantic relationship with a minor -of Sansa's age. So in this, Sansa is sixteen, Arya is around fourteen, Robb is twenty-one and so is Jon, and Joffrey is eighteen. Also, please note that there won't be any SanSan 'romance' from early on. I'll try to keep it as realistic as possible... And guess what that means? Yep. Slow-burner.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

**)(**

The first time she heard the noise, Sansa assumed it must have been her imagination and simply ignored it.

The second time she heard the sound of knuckles against wood, though, her eyelids fluttered open and she propped herself on her elbows, letting the duvet slide off of her.

"Who is it?" she called out, trying not to sound as inconvenient as she felt.

"It's Mara, girl," a high-pitch female voice resonated. "I'm coming in, alright?"

"What? No!" Sansa pulled herself in a sitting position and gathered the bed sheets around her half-naked form. "I mean... I mean I'm not presentable." And she truly wasn't -her hair was a red tangled mess, she was covered in nothing but a cheap nightgown and she was sure she had make-up smudged all over her face.

She heard the woman give a laugh that sounded more like a bark and the door was pushed open from outside, Mara following. "_Not presentable_?" she chuckled as she stepped fully inside the room. A pile of hastily folded clothes were in her small hands and she had Sansa's fur coat thrown over her left shoulder. She gave the door a careless kick to shut it close. "Good God, girl, you sound like those royal ladies in the palaces."

Sansa pulled the duvet tighter around her, shifting away from the woman who sat down on the bed with a thump, tossing the pile of clothes in front of Sansa. "You know, these women in the fancy fluffy dresses and the complicate hair. Ah, never mind," she gave Sansa what looked like a sympathetic look and pointed at the clothes with her forefinger. "These were the best I could find, girl. Yeah, they're not exactly the best quality, I mean, they're not nearly as good as the ones you were wearing when you came but..." she paused to take a breath and then tilted her head to the side. "They'll do just fine."

"I..." Sansa really didn't know what to say. "Thank you, miss-"

"Miss?" the woman laughed. "Oh, I am no 'miss', girl. I'm just Mara, the charwoman."

"Mara, then," Sansa nodded, completely unaware of how to treat a woman like Mara. All her life she had been consorting with ladies of ancestry and breeding the same as hers, and people like this maid were a mystery to Sansa. "Thank you... for the clothes, but my own are just fine-"

"Sure, these clothes are not as good as yours, but... Your pretty dress was really dingy, girl, it's in the washer right now. Don't worry, though, I'll hand it to you when it's done." Mara said, picking up the clothes and handing them over to Sansa. They were simple and not anything special, just as the maid had said, but they would do. A simple grey cotton shirt, a matching jacket and a pair of jeans. Sansa frowned a little while picking them up -all her life she'd been wearing skirts and dresses, and she wasn't exactly accustomed to pants. But she guessed she'd have to get used to them from now on.

"Thank you," she said once again, this time considerably more sincerely.

"Ah, never mind," Mara waved her hand and picked Sansa's coat up. She ran her hand across the thick material, a small frown creasing her forehead. "Is this real fur?" She asked with disbelief.

Sansa nodded. "Yes," she said simply. It was not the first time she wore a fur coat, and this one was definitely not her best piece.

Mara's eyes widened and she put the coat down, as if afraid she was going to somehow mar it. "Wow," she whispered. "I've only seen real fur once, when I was working over at the dry cleaner's. Where the hell did you find it?" She asked and then her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forwards. "You stole it, right?"

Sansa gasped in shock and brought her palm over her mouth. "God no!" She exclaimed, a little louder than she had intended. "My... My mother bought it for me!"

The maid gave another laugh at Sansa's blushing face. "Dear Lord, girl, you really are acting like one of those fancy ladies," she said in between sharp intakes of breath.

Sansa gulped down a lump in her throat and shook her head. She really had to start acting like a common girl if she did not want to give herself away. Even if the Lannister men did not find her, she would eventually betray her own self if she continued that way. "I... Perhaps I watch too many movies," she said, and she sounded rather pathetic to her own ears, but fortunately Mara just laughed again.

"You know what? I like you, girl," she said, smiling. "What's your name again?"

"Becca," Sansa replied quickly. Four nights ago, when she had met Dontos behind that old murky restaurant, she had told the owner of the place her name was Jeyne, but she supposed she would have to change her identity every now and then if she did not want to arouse suspicion.

"Becca... I had a friend named Becca once," Mara commented without much care, taking the fur coat back and placing it on the pile of clothes next to Sansa. Sansa herself was more than relieved the maid had not bothered to ask for a surname.

"And... she's not your friend anymore?" She asked tentatively, as a means to begin a conversation and get the woman's focus away from her identity.

"No, she kind of stabbed me in the back at some point," Mara said, rolling her eyes. "But whatever. So, Becca. Those men... Last night. Do you know them or were they just random pricks? 'Cause if you know them and they keep harassing you, I can talk to Marlon -he's my cousin, he'll take care of them in no time-"

"No, no, I'd never seen them before in my life," Sansa replied quickly, her cheeks flaming as her mind filled with visions of last night. "They just came out of nowhere and..."

Mara sighed. "Girl, these are dangerous places for beautiful ones like you who go without the company of a man. Whatever where you doing out there alone, anyway?"

"I..." Sansa bit down on her lip, trying to think of something to say. "I was to meet someone... And..."

"Ah, I get it," Mara said suddenly, rolling her eyes again. "Boyfriend who said he'd meet you but didn't. Been there," she huffed, and Sansa sighed with relief that the maid had unwillingly provided her with the perfect alibi. "If I were you, Becca, I'd dump him before he could say a single word. A pretty girl like you deserves better than an asshole... And you're kind, too."

"I... well, thank you," Sansa said lamely, awkwardly shifting in her position on the bed. She was certainly not used to that kind of vocabulary. "Um... Mara... Can I ask you something?" She asked hesitantly, hoping the maid would answer her question and then just leave the room so she could dress and finally leave this dingy building. Mara had told her this room was the cleanest of all the spaces on the floor above the small pub, but still Sansa could have sworn she had heard rats scurrying across the rooftop during night.

"Sure, girl. What is it?"

"Well..." Sansa inhaled deeply, unaware of how to correctly put it. "The man... The one who saved me last night..." _The one with the ugly burned face and the grotesque manners, but who acted like a knight and saved me... That one, yes_.

"You mean the Dog?"

"Dog? His name is _Dog_?" Sansa asked, bewildered, trying to figure out what kind of parents would name their child 'Dog'.

Mara laughed. "No, no girl, his name's Sandor. Dog's just his... ehm, nickname."

"Nickname? Why do you call him _that_?" She asked, unable to believe someone could willingly allow others to call him 'Dog'.

Mara leaned towards Sansa and when she spoke, her voice came out as a soft whisper -it was as if she was about to reveal the top secrets of the government to the girl before her. "Well. Up until a year ago, Clegane -that's his surname, Becca- worked over at the Baratheons."

"The _Baratheons_?" Sansa gasped, pulling away from the maid. How come she had never seen him in the Baratheon Manor before? _Because he left a year ago. The maid just told you_. But still, if he worked there, then there was a chance he knew... about her... and her family! And -God, she had told him her name! Her real name!

"You know them? I'm not surprised -everyone does," Mara said, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "The Baratheon goner -Robert, was married to that Lannister woman. Cersei, you know her! I mean, she's the one running the Baratheon companies -and have you heard she was behind those Ministry scandals? I heard that -anyway, this isn't about her. Well, Robert died a few months ago, and a while later that Stark Man from the North died too... yeah, they said it was some sort of disease, but I don't buy that, I'm sure someone was behind all this, but anyway." Mara inhaled deeply and continued her monologue, ignoring Sansa's flushed cheeks and her uncomfortable shifting on the bed. "We were talking about the Dog. Clegane, his name is, Sandor Clegane. You've heard of him?"

Sansa's eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to recall ever having heard the name Clegane before. "I think... I think I have," she said after a while. "But it wasn't Sandor..."

"Aye, you've heard of Gregor Clegane, girl, is that right?"

Sansa nodded tentatively. "Yes, I believe I've heard that name before..." her voice trailed off and Mara nodded collusively.

"Gregor Clegane is the Dog's older brother. They call him Mountain -and God, he is _huge_. People say-" the maid's voice was now barely above a whisper "that one day, when the Cleganes were still small kids, the Mountain took the Dog's head and shoved it into the fireplace."

Sansa felt a shiver going down her spine at the woman's words. "That... That's how he got these... _scars_?"

"Aye, girl. Half his face got burned, and whoever dares talk about this... incident in the Dog's presence... well, he's pretty much left for dead."

"I... I see," Sansa murmured, shaking her head slightly. "But... Why do they call him _Dog_?"

"Because, Becca, he used to be the Baratheon kid's faithful bodyguard. He followed him around like a Dog, a _Hound_, never took his eyes off the boy and, well, he was his dog. But then the boy's mama, the Lannister woman, decided the Dog was too dangerous to be around her and the family and sent him away. Fired him. And then the Dog went back to his old, miserable life -spending all his days drinking at whorehouses."

"Ah... Well, I see," was the only thing Sansa was able to utter. So, Sandor Clegane had left Robert Baratheon's service before she had arrived at the city with her father and Arya. And after the fat drunk's death... And her father's, and Arya's disappearance... All hell had broken loose. _Don't think about them. Not here, not now_.

"You seem confused, Becca," the maid noted, and Sansa shook her head.

"No, I merely-"

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"I..." Perfect. This maid didn't seem particularly canny, and unwillingly she had provided Sansa with the perfect cover. "Yes, I'm from... Uh, Italy."

"Italy?" Mara actually looked surprised. "I've always wanted to visit Italy... The pizza, the statues, the Italians... Ah..."

Sansa felt her cheeks burn red once again, and the woman laughed. "And how did you get here from Italy?"

"Vacation," Sansa replied quickly, but this time the maid didn't look fully convinced.

"And how did you end up running down a dingy backstreet all alone? Where's your family?"

Sansa tried hard not display any emotions. _My father is dead, my sister is missing and probably dead as well, my older brother is trying to rule our country and command the local armies. He'll most likely declare a war against you, and he's only twenty. And my mother is with him. And my younger brother is a cripple, and I have no idea about the youngest. And my other 'brother' is a bastard at the Army Border in Greenland_. "I... left the hotel to meet my... boyfriend, but those men saw me. I should probably be going before midday, because they will surely be worried," she said finally, struggling to maintain an even tone and sound convincing. "I don't want them to call the police and start looking for me everywhere, although I'm sure they must already have..." she added bitterly. _Well, the Lannisters must have sent half the police to find me after finding out I didn't return at their Manor that night_.

"Ah, I see," Mara huffed, standing up hastily. "Trouble with your parents. How old are you, anyway, Becca?"

"I'm sixteen," Sansa replied, avoiding to address the maid as '_miss_' again. It was quite hard to abnegate her manners.

"Sixteen? And your parents still boss you around?" Mara sounded, again, bewildered. "At sixteen I'd already left home and had a job. Anyway," she started for the door, "dress quickly. I'm afraid there's no place to bathe, but there's a toilet downstairs... Breakfast will be served in half an hour."

**)(**

Sandor had been to better brothels than this, but for now it would have to do.

Hell, he didn't even know why he had come here. Quite absurdly, he didn't have any particular need to sleep with a woman tonight, but he had come mostly out of habit.

The place wasn't exactly spick and span, the whores were considerably cheap to rent and only the underworld haunted there. _And what are _you_, Dog? Do you think yourself to be better than the so-called underworld? Oh, you're just one of them. One of the worst, be sure of that_.

"Sandor!"

Sandor grunted and turned to the direction of the voice, only to see Jenna, the co-owner of the brothel grinning widely at him, her hands outstretched as if to hug him. Sandor was not a fool, he was perfectly aware that the woman was smiling for the money in his pocket and not for him. Who would ever smile for him, anyway? Not that he particularly minded, though. He knew that was how the world worked.

"Jenna," he greeted carelessly, avoiding her handshake.

The black-haired woman smirked knowingly at him and leaned over the short table she was sitting by. The smell of old rich perfume hit Sandor and his nostrils twitched. "Sandor, I _believe _I know what you're here for," she chimed, her pointed red nails clapping rhythmically against the wooden surface of the spread. "Hailey and Rania are available right now, _but_, if you're willing to wait for a while Kendra will-"

"I didn't come here for that," Sandor said sharply, observing with mild interest as Jenna's foxy expression gave way to bewilderment.

"Last time I checked, the rule was that when a man goes to a call-house he does it because he wants to have a woman. What's different now?" she asked incredulously, arching a thin eyebrow.

Sandor exhaled sharply, shooting her a glare. "Just give me a drink. Scotch, on the rocks."

Jenna rolled her eyes and stood up, ignoring the wary look of a passing girl. "God, you amaze me, Sandor."

"How so?" he asked carelessly as the woman waved to a tall young man who disappeared in a dark room, probably to fetch Sandor's drink.

"I know I don't have the best quality... accommodations here, but still, it's not your type to be all..."

"All what? I'm not in the mood for that, Jenna," he growled, not even bothering to look at the young man who quickly placed his drink in front of him.

"Anyway," Jenna said, tossing her hair behind her shoulder and flashing him another wide smile, all previous conversation seemingly forgotten. "I heard of what happened in that pub last night... With the little girl."

"And what exactly did you hear?"

"Ah, just the usual happened," she smirked. "Bunch of drunk horny men run after a young and pretty girl." She leaned back in the chair she had just sat on. "Do you know her? That little lass you so bravely saved last night?"

"No. Never seen her before, and never will again," Sandor said carelessly as he gulped down his scotch.

"Oh," Jenna's smile fell. "Too bad."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, I heard the girl was really pretty, and two of my women quit this week. Perhaps I could hire her, I was hoping you could introduce her to me if you-"

"Even if I knew her, I wouldn't bring her here, and you know that, woman."

Jenna feigned surprise. "Sandor, you're hurting me. Why not?" She frowned as the man stood, pushing his chair back and glaring down at her. She forced herself not to flinch and look him straight into the eyes, ignoring the burnt part of his face. "Why so ratty, Sandor?"

"I'm leaving," he grunted, and she arched an eyebrow.

"You're not going to pay," she said simply, and it wasn't a question.

"Put it in my tab."

**)(**

Sansa was used to cold weather. She was the daughter of the most powerful house of the Northern Alliance, after all, and temperatures below zero were only a natural phenomenon to her. That was mainly why she found it quite absurd that every single person she saw passing her by down the streets was wrapped in thick fur and leather, even though it was only September.

Sansa herself didn't feel particularly cold, but she had reasoned covering her face with the fur-lined cowl of her overcoat was the best way to obscure her identity.

The sun had set hours ago and a considerably bright day had given way to night. The narrow streets of the infamous slum were already filled with people -everyone here seemed to be nocturnal. During day, the unprivileged alleys remained desert. The only people getting about under sunlight were the elderly, enjoying the quiescence of their deprecated small neighborhood and the children rushing to school. But when night fell, the nigh streets came to live.

Men of all ages gathered in the small pubs and gin mills, bartering japes and laughing out loud, often giving high-pitched catcalls every time a young and good looking woman went by the spread tables. Every lamp, broken or not, was switched on and songs of all kinds reverberated down the streets. If one deigned to wander further into the dark alleyways, afar from the crowded rathskellers, they would descry women, young and older, in short, tight dresses standing outside of scrimp, recondite houses, provocatively leaning against a stone wall or doorframe with identical half-smiles in place.

Sansa, in all truth, was not familiar with this world. Of course she did know it existed, but never before in her life had she encountered men and women of a lower status than hers and her family's. Running from the Lannisters, though, had compelled her to abandon her morals and upbringing in order to become one with the crowd.

It wasn't always easy, though.

Sansa, being the demure and polite girl she had been taught to be, found it rather hard to blend in with the "commons", as Mrs. Mordane, her nurse, used to call the people of unpretentious heritage. She was confident she was progressing, though, and the fact she had not been caught yet was a huge accomplishment.

She was still in the city as it was practically impossible to get in or out without being raked and questioned from the police, which was, of course, under the Lannisters' commands. She knew they were looking for her -only two days ago, an aged policeman had approached her and asked her if she had come upon Sansa Stark. Thankfully the man had not been very bright and Sansa had been able to overcome her initial shock and elude him.

It seemed a miracle no one had recognized her. Then again, she was pretty sure no citizen knew exactly how Sansa Stark looked like, otherwise she was pretty sure the first to identify her would instantly turn her in to the Lannisters. Nevertheless, she knew she had to be more careful.

She kept her head bent and her pace swift, ignoring the loud crowd around her as she walked down one of the many illuminated narrow alleys. She had missed her opportunity to meet Dontos Hollard last night because of the incident with the drunk men, and she doubted he would come back for her tonight, but at least she could hope he would. He was, after all, her last chance. He was the only thing she had left to cling on for help, that and her hope. She knew no one else could help her -no one else would _want _to- and so she had rely on a half-crazed sot.

_But he had promised her_. And Sansa's conscious told her he would keep his promise. He _would _help her.

Her thoughts had spiraled out of control and she was not paying attention on the way ahead of her. Sansa let out a short shriek as she bumped on something _large_, and backed away swiftly, hastily pulling her coat tighter around her still, mumbling a quick "sorry" to whomever she had stumbled upon, praying they would not recognize her as "Lady Stark".

"Seven Hells, girl," the man growled, and Sansa's eyes shot up at the sound of his voice. "Watch were you're going."

"I'm terribly sorry… sir," she mumbled, taking a hesitant step closer. It was _him_. The _big_, not very well-mannered man with the half-burnt face who had took out a _gun _and had saved her last night. Sandor Clegane his name was, Mara had said. "I didn't see you, I-"

"You should watch yourself, kid," he said with disdain, looking down at her through narrowed eyes. "First you let yourself fall prey to three bums and now you don't even see ahead. It will be no wonder if someone finds your dead body in a dark backstreet some day."

His words were enough to make her flinch and wrinkle her nose in annoyance, and she struggled to keep her eyes on his scarred face. _He's hideous_, she thought. _And coarse, but he saved me. He can't be evil. And God, I told him last night that I'm Sansa, and he did not turn me in_.

"I told you sir, I am terribly sorry-"

"I don't need your apologies, girl. And I am no sir, either," he said sharply ad swiftly turned from her, but she was in front of him in a second.

"_Wait_," she exclaimed, surprising even herself. She did not like this man. It was obvious he was _dangerous _-but perhaps…. Perhaps he could help her. He didn't seem to like the Lannisters very much -at least that's what Mara had said.

«What is it?" he demanded, eyes narrowing again as he turned his gaze on her. Sansa gulped down a lump in her throat, trying to gather whatever courage she had left.

"I don't mean to bother you, sir, but-"

"You _are _bothering me, girl. And I am no sir, God damn it!"

"I just want to know something!" She blurted out, ignoring the questioning look a young woman gave her as she swiftly passed them by.

Clegane rolled his eyes, pulling himself away from her and giving her an impatient stare. "What?"

Sansa took a deep breath. She just _had _to know. "I told you my name. Last night. When you saved me -and thank you again for that."

"Yes, girl, you did indeed. No go, I have things to do-"

"No, please, wait!" She said, and she knew she must have sounded desperate, for Sandor Clegane huffed and took a step closer to her. "I… I just wanted to ask… Do you know who I am?"

"They call me Dog, girl, and dogs are no stupid," he said flatly. "Of course I know, Miss Sta-"

"No, don't!" Sansa shrieked, which earned a few weird looks from the passing. She gave them a wary look before turning her attention to the man before her again. "Why… How… You didn't turn me in. To the police," she said, this time her voice considerably lower.

"I didn't," he repeated. "I had no reason to. I still don't," he said simply.

Sansa bit down on her lip, trying to put her thoughts together. "I… Thank you," she finally uttered, unable to find anything better to say.

"Is that all?" Clegane arched an eyebrow impatiently, and Sansa shook her head.

"No," she said. "Can we go somewhere else? In a… uh, _pub_?" She felt her cheeks flaming the moment she finished her sentence, mentally screaming at herself for daring to say such a thing. This man might have saved her, be he was _repulsive_. His face hideous and his manners not very better, and she most certainly did not want to be around him. Even his scent smelt like alcohol. But somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny voice kept whispering that he might be able to help her. Somehow.

She was just about to blush even further and hastily take back her absurd offer, when he simply rolled his eyes. "Why not, girl? It will be quite interesting to hear what else you have to say."

Even though his tone was clearly mocking, Sansa could not have cared less. All she could think of was that she may have found a way out of the city, and far, far away from the Lannisters.


End file.
